


only the good die young

by artmitagehux



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:49:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22335097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artmitagehux/pseuds/artmitagehux
Summary: General Hux didn't die--the blaster was merely set to stun. But everyone thinks he is, and that is enough for Pryde.Now locked in Pryde’s chambers aboard the Steadfast, Hux has to deal with the consequences of ever messing with the Allegiant General.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 57





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> if my other fic 'the day general hux died' is the light side of the force, this must be the dark. please please please read the tags and heed the warnings! this is not a pretty fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first chapter will be a bit short, but it's only because i was so excited to just get this out! please consider sticking around and let me know what you think :) thank you!!

When he first opens his eyes, Hux thinks he must be dead. It would explain the glaring lights and why everything seems hard and cold and unforgiving—but then again, Brendol always said Hell was made of fire and brimstone. So maybe he isn’t, after all.

He blinks, trying his best to disperse the light that keeps pouring down. Eventually, his vision focuses somewhat, and he concludes that the light is coming from a ceiling. 

Whatever this place is, it has a ceiling. Hux supposes that’s a start.

Then something occurs to him: he shouldn’t be lying down, especially not in a place as unfamiliar as this. _This is the most basic training; you should know better,_ A voice that isn’t his own tells him. _Chides_ him, like he’s still a child in an oversized uniform. 

He’s suddenly aware of pressure around his wrists. He glances down and sees them trapped in prisoner cuffs.

Hux tries to sit up—and is stunned by the pain that arches through him like a livewire. He can’t even scream, or maybe he can’t hear himself anymore. Giving up, he collapses back on the solid, cold surface.

The pain brings back the gift of memory.

Not so much memories, he supposes, but images. Flashes. Feelings. 

A flash of red: a blaster bolt, the only warm thing in the damn star destroyer.

Hot, cutting heat, then, then—

More cold. Colder than anything Hux had felt—and he’d lived under Brendol’s gaze for the first twenty or so years of his life.

The cold had taken over everything. Then it brought a friend: darkness. Darkness so black and so consuming that it made waste of Hux’s consciousness.

Then, beyond that, just before he was lost to the dark—

A pair of blue eyes bearing into his, and the twist of a thin, pursed lip.

Hux sucks in a breath, feeling the ache where he’d been shot as it slowly ebbs away. It does nothing to stop the sudden panic that’s settling in his bones, interlocking with the chill. He knows to whom those eyes, those lips, belong to.

Before Hux can do anything about either revelation or discomfort, there’s a noise somewhere behind him.

It sounds like the hiss of a chamber door opening—but he could be wrong. 

_No, but you’re never wrong._

— — 

Allegiant General Pryde looks on, hiding a smile as best as he can, as two troopers drag General Hux’s lifeless form from the bridge. They had their instructions; he’ll be safe.

He ignores the stunned looks from the bridge crew. He has to hide a scoff next: incompetents. All too emotional to ever have been good enough to even _board_ his destroyer, let alone manage it. If he were, if he were…

Pryde catches himself. Turns back to the windows. Pretends he isn’t watching the reflection of the flash of red hair as the bridge doors slide closed. 

He’ll get to see more of it later, anyway.

— — 

It’s definitely hell, Hux thinks.

As it turns out, he wasn’t wrong at all. It was a chamber door. 

It _is_ a chamber door. 

He’s still in the First Order. He's still alive.

Hell must have transitioned to his side of reality, then—because the person that steps through the door is far, _far_ worse than any fate Hux has imagined for himself. 

Allegiant General Pryde stands at the doorway, his narrow figure somehow filling the space. He’s taller than Hux remembers him—but then again, he’s never had to look at the man while lying flat on a metal platform.

For one foolish moment (belonging to a child named Armitage), he hopes Pryde might be here to help him. But then the image of those blue eyes and cold smile comes to mind, and Hux gets a very bad feeling about his whole predicament. 

Pryde doesn’t say anything for several long moments and Hux thinks he can—or should—yell something at the man. But when he draws breath there’s a surge of pain in his ribs, and nothing but a heavy cloud of air comes out. 

The older man steps closer, his gaunt features harsh in the sterile light. He’s not smiling anymore, but his eyes are roaming over Hux’s figure with a kind of look he can’t exactly identify, per se, but it’s a look he’s witnessed before. He’s seen it in the children back in the days of the academy, and he’s seen it in Arkanis wolves.

— — 

There’s something about the way Armitage lies on the elevated platform that makes Pryde breathe different. There’s something about the inferno in his pretty green eyes, still glazed somewhat from the stun he’d taken, that makes it impossible to look away. There’s something about the heavy cuffs that encircle his thin wrists that makes Pryde want to leave him in them longer.

But as much as he’d like to, he can think of a lot of other _somethings_ he’d like to see for himself.

Then again, why rush? Pryde muses as he draws close enough to hear his former general’s deep, erratic breathing. They’ve got all the time the galaxy permits.

And at the thought, something different stirs in his gut.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

This has been a long time coming. Or maybe Pryde had convinced himself it was so.

He first noticed the red-haired boy not long after Commandant Hux’s promotion. He wasn’t even _aware_ the commandant had sired a child, or that Hux Sr. was even capable of raising one. But one look at young Armitage was all it took to determine that there wasn’t much raising on Brendol’s part at all: the boy had been brought up by wolves, deducing by the constant blaze and the endless hunger in his eyes. His manners were surely all Hux’s doing, though—he walked with his back as straight as a ruler and spoke coldly and never out of turn.

Years passed. The Empire fell, and it was a while before the First Order finally built up enough to make its presence in the galaxy known.

By the time the Emperor had requested for Pryde to return to serve again, he was a little worse for wear: more wrinkles lined his face; his hair had gone grey and thin. But he still fit in his Empire uniform, thank you very much, and there was no problem transitioning from green to black. After all, that was the only change—everything else seemed to remain the same.

On his first day on the _Finalizer_ , Pryde thought he’d seen a ghost. Young Armitage—now older and taller—was the last person he expected to see standing at the foot of the star destroyer’s bridge. After all those years, an unexpected, unidentifiable feeling rose in him at the sight of the red-headed boy, no longer just Armitage but _General_ Hux. (He would later get to understand those feelings only in the sanctuary of his chambers.)

Armitage didn’t recognise him, of course: they were never formally introduced. But one glance at the General’s curled lip and narrowed blue eyes, and it was clear to Pryde what the younger man thought of him. 

Adult Armitage had the same look young Armitage had, but he was better at concealing it. (Not a lot better, of course, if the bruises on his face from getting thrown around by Ren was any indication.) His hair was still kept neatly just above his ears, though now he allowed it to grow down the sides of his cheekbones, something he couldn’t before. Like Pryde, he now stood in a black uniform instead of green.

The truth was, it was difficult to look at him. If all he saw when he looked at Armitage was the mirage of a boy in an oversized cadet uniform and a bloody, split lip, it would be okay—but it wasn’t, and that was a thing that kept Pryde up at night. 

Armitage had his figure hidden behind his ridiculous coat and impeccably kept uniform. The only bit of skin he exposed was the sliver between his leather gloves and his uniform cuffs, assuring the promise of something more precious hidden under all that material. It was a bit of a shame, really: the boy was tall and slender and he moved with a seemingly-practised grace. When he walked, it was a stride of sheer confidence, sheer pompousness, like he thought himself the most important person in the First Order, second to no one, not even Ren.

So when he’d heard that Supreme Leader Ren had appointed Pryde _Allegiant_ General, a rank just above General, he was _livid._ Pryde still fondly remembers the conversation that transpired:

“Allegiant General, sir.” Armitage’s cold voice down the hallway made Pryde turn at once—something he wasn’t proud of. But they rarely spoke outside of high command meetings, so the occasion was rather exceptional. 

“General Hux,” He responded, thinking of the boy’s father. “What can I do for you?”

Pryde watched, silently gleeful, as the boy tried to hide his grimace. Armitage caught up to him and they resumed their walk back to the bridge. “I heard you’ve been promoted, sir.”

“You have, have you?” Pryde directed his attention to the datapad in his hand. A report was on the screen and he pretended to read it, knowing this would only work him up. Sure enough, Pryde sees Armitage clench his fist through his peripheral vision.

“Yes,” Armitage said, his voice quite calm, “the Supreme Leader informed me. I suppose you’ll be commanding another ship, then?” 

Pryde gave him a cold smile. “Yes—the _Steadfast._ ” And because he was feeling particularly sadistic that day, added—“The Supreme Leader mentioned that you will be assisting me aboard.”

If Hux were force-sensitive, Pryde sensed this was the moment where he would attempt to perform a force choke. But the universe wasn’t in Hux’s favour, and so the younger general settled for a scoff and a look one would give a pile of Bantha dung.

“Forgive me, but I haven’t been made aware of the change,” He frowned, and like this it was easy to picture the small, pouty boy back on Arkanis. 

Pryde increased his pace, leaving Hux a half-step behind him. “Well, you are now,” He said more cheerfully than he normally would. The bridge doors were in sight now, and Armitage visibly regained his composure. He cleared his throat. One leather-gloved hand reached up to smooth his fiery hair back. 

“Well, then I suppose congratulations are in order,” Armitage spoke again as they reached the bridge doors. The anger in his voice was concealed, but there was an unmistakable fury in his clear irises. 

— —

It’s the same look Armitage is giving him now—except this time, everything else is different.

— —

Hux feels like an animal sent for slaughter as Pryde closes the distance between them until he’s standing right in front of him. But animals lie in wait for the inevitable; not him. 

With all the strength in his body, Hux attempts to sit up. This time, he is victorious, and the world spins as he straightens. 

This is his first mistake. Because in his moment of weakness Pryde manages to close the distance between them, and when the world falls back into place Pryde is still in it, and much, much closer than Hux remembers him to be. 

But still, he looks up and into the older man’s eyes, and can see himself reflected in them—and for a moment, it feels as though he’s merely a child, staring down Brendol all over again. 

— —

Pryde allows himself a moment to revel in all the wonderful and terrible things he can do to Armitage as the two stare at each other, a silent understanding of quiet between them. Armitage is still gazing at him with uncontrollable wrath behind those pretty green eyes. 

Then Armitage speaks up, and the moment is ruined. 

“What is the meaning of this?” He demands, voice shaking just the tiniest degree; poor thing, Pryde thinks, sympathetic.

He won’t justify the question with an answer. Instead, he leans in to take hold of the boy’s cuffed wrists—and he jerks back, as if scalded. 

“What are you doing?” He hisses, teeth bared. Pryde ignores his outburst and lifts the key fob in his hand, thumbing the unlock button. The magnacuffs flash green and click open, dropping to the hard floor with a crash. Armitage follows the movement with his eyes, staring at the cuffs on the ground as his hands go to massage his wrists. Then he looks back at Pryde, and Pryde takes pleasure in the uncertainty that’s now shining in the boy’s irises. 

“Armitage,” He says simply and watches him react from hearing his own first name. No one’s called him that in a long time, the last person who had being Brendol. It’s a sore thing for Armitage, Pryde knows that. It just makes things all the more interesting for him. 

“It’s Hux,” Armitage says eventually. “General Hux.”

“Maybe to Ren and the Emperor and all the commanders under you,” Pryde answers, bending to pick the cuffs up. “But not to me. Not to everyone who’s seen you as a child.”

Armitage practically freezes. His brows crease together, and his head snaps back up. “You...but when?"

“Your father and I worked together once, during Imperial rule,” Pryde explains, not wanting to dwell on it. Their brief period of collaboration wasn’t memorable, save for the times Brendol had little Armitage serve drinks. 

The man had all the droids he wanted at his disposal, but he always insisted on bringing Armitage along to meetings. Pryde never knew if it was because he enjoyed humiliating the boy, or if he wanted his son to gain insight on proper leadership. Either way, it was always a treat whenever cute little Armie shuffled into the meeting room, holding on to a tray that was tottering with drinks.

Armitage opens his mouth to speak, possibly to ask another question, but Pryde’s getting tired of those. He didn’t fake Armitage’s death just to answer _questions._

Which then reminds him of why he’s even here in the first place. 

“Enough questions.” He holds up a hand and Armitage clamps his mouth shut, almost comically—and yet, his eyes still shine with defiance. A muscle twitches in his jaw. 

And that pure defiance, above everything else, is the thing that will make breaking little Armitage all the more enjoyable. 


End file.
